And Worship Like This
by ArwenLalaith
Summary: It was no secret that Emily longed for a baby. Apparently, Irene had decided to give that to her. Not literally, of course, but she was making it happen. Sequel to But For One Final Sin.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: It's my birthday so you get the present! This is set post-season seven, during the time Emily works for Interpol in London and before A Scandal in Belgravia. It sort of ignores the whole blackmail and treason thing with Irene and focuses just on the fact that she is a dominatrix. This fic has two more chapters and the universe will have two more fics...unless I get a lot of response, I could see expanding it then. Obviously, heavy BDSM themes follow (I admit, I know next to nothing about the subject so I did a crap load of research because I am better than 50 Shades, but in no way am I an expert, so take it with a grain of salt). Enjoy!**

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Derek was visiting Emily in London one weekend when Irene invited them both over for dinner – Emily should have expected something was going to happen then. Their relationship, unconventional as it was, wasn't the type where they introduced each other to their friends or, indeed, were even seen in public together very often.

She'd mentioned to him that she'd been seeing someone, but the conversation hadn't strayed to the fact that said someone happened to be a dominatrix...a dominatrix she'd seen professionally. It wasn't exactly something she discussed with work friends – even if they were a very good friend.

For his part, he hadn't seemed particularly surprised she was seeing a woman (or, if he had been, he'd hidden it very well). He did seem slightly thrown off balance by the fact that Irene greeted them at the door in a skin-tight black leather dress and thigh-high boots, a slightly more company appropriate approach to her normal dominatrix wear. But he was nothing if not well-trained at schooling his reactions and did a very good job of not letting on his surprise cross his face.

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair. Their rules for company were simple and subtle – she wasn't allowed to sit until her Mistress did and she couldn't take a bite until after her Mistress had taken one. If Derek caught on to their unusual power dynamic – and knowing him, he had – he didn't say anything on the matter.

After dinner, though, Irene started to weave her web...

It started off innocently enough (or it would have been, if it weren't for the decidedly wicked smirk she wore): she 'suggested' that Derek looked tense and Emily should rub his shoulders. Emily had no choice but to obey her Mistress' implied command.

His shoulders tensed up at her touch. He looked at her questioningly over his shoulder, obviously confused and a little concerned with the direction the evening had taken. She just shook her head, silently instructing him to just play along. She hoped her smile said to trust her.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Irene said airily, as if Emily weren't in the room. She openly raked her eyes over Emily's form, eyes lingering on her breasts popping out of her skin-tight dress, one she'd deliberately picked out for Emily to wear whenever they had guests. She liked showing off what was hers.

Emily watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously, discomfort rising. She continued to knead his neck and shoulders, feeling his entire body tense at the implications of the question, the way Irene was visibly undressing her with her eyes.

"Very," he agreed, deliberately keeping his eyes trained straight ahead. When he'd agreed to dinner, he'd had no idea the night would take this direction. To be honest, neither had she.

Irene grinned silkily. "Tell me..." she wondered aloud, training him with an innocently inquisitive expression, "Have you ever wondered what it's like to fuck her?"

Derek seemed to choke at that, coughing and sputtering, unable to form any words. But his eyes were wide in alarm.

Emily too was taken aback. She'd thought that her Mistress intended to dangle her in front of him, showing him what he couldn't have. Things seemed to be taking a decidedly different turn and she wasn't sure she liked it.

"I thought so." Irene's grin was positively predatory.

"I don't... I mean... I haven't..." he stammered. He wiped his sweating palms on his jeans.

"Liar," Irene hissed. She approached him, bending down to meet his gaze, trailing one hand down the side of his face. "Did you know she's a submissive little bitch? Or that she gets off on being beaten?" Irene laughed at the stunned expression on his face, patted his cheek lightly.

From her vantage point, Emily could see that he was getting hard at the visual, surprising her a little. She had no idea he was into that sort of thing. She wondered if it was her that turned him on – the idea of her as a slave – or if it was her Mistress. And, in that case, she found herself a little jealous.

"You'd like your cock in her mouth, wouldn't you?" Irene said conversationally, "Or her sweet little ass? She's such a good little cum slut – trust me, I know all the men that have had her."

Derek was unable to form a reply. He just nodded, crossing his legs to hide his hard-on.

Emily was unsure if she should feel relieved that it was her that was turning him on. She had to wonder if this was something he'd felt for a long time or if it was newly brought on by her Mistress' teasing.

"If you want her, you can have her..."

"What?" Derek said, deadpan.

"What?" Emily yelped simultaneously.

Irene cocked her head to the side and smiled sweetly. She caught Emily's eyes until she diverted her gaze to the floor. "You belong to me and if I'm inclined to share you, you'll serve any master just as you'd serve me, right?"

"Yes, Mistress," Emily mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Yes, Mistress," she repeated, more clearly.

Derek was clearly taken aback by the exchange, eyebrows leaping up his forehead as he witnessed the true nature of their relationship for the first time.

"Do you want her on her hands and knees?" Irene suggested, then snapped her fingers. "Emily, kneel for our guest."

With a silent little sigh, she knelt before him, staring up into his eyes in a pleading way...though she wasn't entirely sure what she was pleading for.

"The poor man has a problem..." Irene said, indicating his hard cock right at Emily's eye level. "Why don't you give him a hand..."

For so long, her Mistress had been taunting her with promises of letting another master use her like the slut she was, letting some man fuck her into oblivion while she watched and, while desperate to please her Mistress by any means possible, she wasn't entirely thrilled by the idea. To be honest, she'd rather thought the threat to be empty...until now. The fact that it ended up being one of her very best friends was a strange combination of comforting and mortifying.

Without breaking eye contact, she reached for the zipper to his jeans, pulling his cock out of his boxer briefs. She'd admit to herself (and herself only) to having wondered if the rumours about his endowment were true and was impressed to find that they were. She spit into her palm and trepidatiously wrapped her fingers around his cock, pumping her hand up and down the length of it.

Irene watched with a critical eye and Derek felt awkward and exposed under her intense gaze, but he couldn't help the feeling he got being pleasured by Emily...he'd long wondered what it would be like.

Before he could reach his climax, Irene commanded, "Stop." Emily withdrew her hand like she'd been burned. He shuddered. "Now, fuck her."

Emily and Derek both whipped their heads around to look at Irene whose face was completely impassive.

"If you want her, you can have her," Irene repeated in a way that was more order than suggestion.

Emily wriggled out of her dress – she wasn't wearing anything underneath, as Irene had a rule that she not wear underwear in public. Fully exposed to Derek's hungry eyes, she got down on her hands and knees, opening herself up for him.

"Em?" Derek rasped, voice hoarse.

"It's okay," she whispered. She glanced over her shoulder at him with what she hoped was a reassuring expression and attempted a smile. She trusted him.

It seemed to work because he stripped out of his pants, taking himself in his hand and stroking. "I don't...have any..." he stammered.

Irene grinned like the cat that got the cream. "Perfect." She seated herself across from them so that she could watch.

"You want me to..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards his hard cock.

"It's okay," Emily said again. She'd already figured out where her Mistress was going with this...

One of her Mistress' rules was that she keep a journal that she periodically was to read aloud, forcing her to expose all her deepest secrets. Perhaps the secret she'd been most reluctant to admit to her was her yearning for a baby; for the most part, she'd given up on the dream and had learned to be okay with it, but there was still a part of her that ached for it.

Apparently, Irene had decided to give that to her.

Not literally, of course, but she was making it happen.

Emily could see in his eyes the exact moment he worked out what Irene had planned. His gaze held hers, surprised and alarmed, silently asking questions he didn't dare voice.

"You're starting to bore me," Irene said with an airy wave of her hand. "I've offered you a gift, it would be rude of you not to accept."

Derek stared helplessly into Emily's eyes and she smiled softly. "Do you trust me?" she whispered.

He did. Explicitly. He nodded.

"I want this," she assured him. And she did. There was no one she felt safer with, no one she trusted more.

He nodded once and, with one hand, guided himself into her, groaning and tipping his head back at the feel of her hot and tight around him. Slowly, tentatively, he started moving against her.

"Don't treat the whore like she's made of glass," Irene instructed, "She likes it rough."

Derek had almost – _almost –_ forgotten she was there, watching. He seemed reluctant to take her word for it; he was no stranger to rough sex – in fact, whenever he imagined Emily in bed, it was always a little kinky. Not that he liked to make a habit of masturbating to thoughts of fucking his best friend...

"Tell him, Emily," Irene demanded.

"I like it rough," she echoed in a raspy trembling voice. "Fuck me harder." She knew what her Mistress wanted to hear.

He swallowed thickly, sinking himself into her until he was flush against her ass, producing a hiss of pleasure/pain from her.

He wanted to ask her if this was okay, if _she_ was okay, but that seemed to toe the line of what this was: a show of control, of power...an act for Irene's voyeuristic pleasure.

He got his answer, anyway, when Emily roughly pushed her hips back against him, urging him on.

He withdrew almost all the way, then pushed himself in again and Emily keened, head lolling forwards, raven hair falling in a curtain, hiding her face from view. He repeated the motion, decidedly shutting off his brain and letting animal instinct take over.

"Yes," he panted, driving into her with intensity, "Yes..." He pressed a hand against the small of her back, the other curling around the ridge of her hip, fingers pressing firmly into her flesh, hard enough to bruise.

Emily dared to meet her Mistress' eyes and found her pupils wide with arousal, her lips slightly parted, sliver of pink tongue darting out to moisten her bottom lip. She would have laughed, if she'd had the wherewithal to think properly. When Irene caught her looking, a wicked smirk crossed her lips.

"Such a pity you're all the way over there..." she said, almost apropos of nothing. She stuck two fingers into her mouth, pulling them out slick with saliva, then guiding her hand under her skirt to fuck herself while Emily watched.

Emily whimpered, wishing it were her hand inside her Mistress. Her pussy clenched at the sight and she sunk her teeth into her lip.

Derek grunted as she tightened around him. "Fuck, Em...you feel so good," he rasped.

"Does he feel good, Emily?" Irene asked, keenly aware of Emily's eyes fixed on the way her fingers were pumping in and out of her cunt. "Tell him how good he feels..."

"Morgan," she started, then felt a little impersonal using last names when he was inside her. "D-Derek," she stammered, "God, you feel..." She struggled to form words, too overwhelmed by the feel of his thick cock pounding mercilessly into her, the sound of his balls slapping against her ass. "Fffffuck, yes, you feel good. Harder, please..."

She felt his cock twitch inside her as she begged; he didn't need to be asked twice, his thrusts increasing in intensity. His hand slid along her sweat-slick back to knot itself in her hair, pulling it taut like she liked. He was as good a fuck as the rumours said and she almost wished she'd thought to find out years ago.

"I'm gonna come," she panted, not sure whether it was him or the sight of her Mistress fucking herself that had brought her to the edge so quickly and not particularly caring, so long as her Mistress let her come. She didn't think she could stand being edged, not tonight, not when he was stretching her and filling her so good.

"Fuck," he grunted, one calloused finger finding her clit and rubbing it furiously.

Her back arched sharply as her climax hit her, leaving her trembling and out of breath, with barely enough time to return to awareness before she felt him spilling hotly inside her with a guttural cry.

After a moment, he pulled out with a wet pop and she could feel his cum dribbling out of her. "Damn, girl," he whispered, trailing a finger through her creamy pussy, making her sensitive cunt clench again.

Emily kept her eyes shut, enjoying the feeling, only vaguely aware of her surroundings. Irene moved to kneel down in front of her, running her fingers soothingly through her sweaty tangle of hair. "Good girl," she purred, before leaning in to kiss her.

 _Three weeks later, Emily had a positive pregnancy test in her hand._


	2. Chapter 2

Being pregnant and submissive was a very strange experience.

Emily had wanted this for so very long, but was finding the experience of actually getting what she wanted to be rather unsettling. She was used to so much of her life being controlled and suddenly, there was so much that was outside of her Mistress' control.

Emily had been pregnant exactly once before, in very different circumstances. Irene had never been pregnant and she'd also never taken on a pregnant client. This was new to both of them. Neither of them liked the feeling.

Things had changed between the two of them after Emily got pregnant. Irene was much stricter with the rules and lighter in her beatings.

They'd played exactly once after her pregnancy test came back positive. Emily had bruised so severely that Irene lost her nerve for any kind of impact play.

Though she'd longed for a baby for years, part of her missed their old relationship. She missed being thoroughly beaten and left bruised and satisfied. Instead, Irene had become exceedingly lenient, even openly affectionate. Emily wasn't used to such open affection from her Mistress – Irene wasn't normally a very affectionate person. That was fine with Emily, who wasn't all that affectionate either. Or rather, their affection was unconventional, but filled their needs.

Emily still craved control in her life, in spite of the limitations of her pregnancy, so they'd had to adapt additional rules to give her that stimulation she required.

Every morning, Irene laid out the clothes Emily was to wear that day; they were always as form-fitting as possible, as Irene loved to show off Emily's belly so everyone knew that she'd been bred.

Irene especially loved showing Emily off in front of Clyde, knowing they'd slept together. It was like she'd succeeded where he'd failed – in knocking her up. (Not that he'd ever tried to actively get her pregnant, Irene just had a theory that all men secretly hoped to impregnate the women they slept with out of a carnal male desire to display their sexual prowess...and Clyde was more stereotypical caveman than most.)

Surprisingly, Emily didn't mind all that much being shown off for her burgeoning belly. In a bizarre way, it was like her Mistress had the ultimate control over her.

Aside from the clothing being tightly fitted, her Mistress was kind to her as far as her wardrobe went, with two very well-thought exceptions. One was that her outfit almost always included a skirt. The second was that her outfits never included panties. Both functioned so that she was open and ready to be fucked at any time...

"Good afternoon, Emily," Irene husked over the phone line in that voice that never failed to turn Emily on – especially lately with her abundance of raging hormones. "How's my bitch today?"

Emily sank her teeth into her bottom lip, eyes flicking over Clyde's impassive face. She knew what was coming; at any time of the day, Irene would call and demand Emily put her hand up her skirt and fuck herself while she listened over the phone to ensure she followed through.

And while, ordinarily, the exhibitionist nature of it, the risk of getting caught, had her absolutely trembling with anticipation, eager to follow through on every command, doing it with Clyde right there on the other side of the desk seemed a little too dangerous, even for her.

Her eyes darted about the office, looking for an excuse to end their meeting quickly before her Mistress turned their little game into a participatory sport as she'd proven she wasn't afraid to do... (She still couldn't look Derek in the eye during their Skype calls.)

"Are you alone?" Irene asked when Emily failed to respond.

"No, Ma'am," she answered, doing her best to keep her voice even to avoid rousing suspicion. "Can it wait?" While the idea of her fucking herself while Clyde sat five feet away, completely unaware, likely pleased her Mistress to no end, Emily didn't relish the thought quite as much as she did.

Clyde perked up a brow in question. She shook her head and silently begged him not to ask questions.

She could almost hear her Mistress' predatory smirk. "Even better," she purred.

Emily almost whimpered, knowing that tone. It sent heat coursing straight between her legs. At the last minute, she bit down on the sound before it could come spilling out and betray what she hoped was a collected facade. She couldn't believe how turned on she was purely from the unspoken promise of what was to come.

She nodded for Clyde to continue talking as she awaited her Mistress' command. If she let him, he'd get carried away with the sound of his own voice and hopefully wouldn't notice her decided lack of attention.

Emily hiked the edge of her skirt up higher on her thigh below the edge of her desk, awaiting her Mistress' demand that she touch herself.

Her Mistress had other ideas, though.

Irene proceeded to toy with Emily, without providing the permission she knew she needed.

With Emily's ever increasing sex drive, she'd repeatedly broken her Mistress' rule that she must be present any time Emily were to orgasm. Now, the rule had been amended that she must have _explicit_ permission each and every time she wanted to touch herself, often requiring she beg and even then, there was no guarantee she'd get it. When she was feeling particularly cruel, her Mistress would grant her the permission, only to revoke it at the very last second before she climaxed and leave her on the edge for days at a time.

Emily balled one fist in the fabric of her skirt until her knuckles turned white and her hand cramped, trying to keep herself obedient as best she could, in spite of the wetness pooling between her thighs as her Mistress casually informed her of all the things she wanted to do to her. The list is long and imaginative and Emily wanted _all_ of it.

By the time she finished describing, in excruciating detail every last punishment and beating and sexual act she was going to dole out, Emily was well and truly soaked and ready to beg for permission so she could ease the aching need between her legs. She also hadn't heard a word of what Clyde had been saying, but that was really a problem for future her.

Finally taking pity on her, her Mistress demanded, "Touch yourself."

And she was _so_ ready...

Her Mistress knew her too well, knew she was ready to finger fuck herself to release the second the words crossed her lips. "Ah ah," she scolded before Emily's fingers could reach their target. "Nice and _slow_. And don't you dare touch your clit."

Emily nearly cried out in frustration. She instead let out a slow controlled breath as she edged her hand up her skirt, careful not to attract Clyde's attention with the movement. "Yes, Ma'am," she added at the last moment. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from making any sound as she slid two fingers into her dripping pussy and curled them, tickling her inner walls, sending them tightening around her fingers. She couldn't help the little whine that escaped.

"That's it, Emily, fuck yourself while he watches..." her Mistress encouraged, hearing the small sound and lavishing in it, in the complete control she had over the other woman.

Emily couldn't have stopped, even if she'd wanted to, she needed this too badly, needed to come. It had been days since her Mistress had taken pity on her and allowed her an orgasm.

She slowly withdrew her fingers inch by inch, to ram them back in to the knuckles, again and again. She fought the urge to buck her hips in time with the pumping of her fingers. With a whimper, she fought the urge to press her thumb against her clit, clamping her thighs tightly shut on her hand.

"Are you alright?" Clyde asked, "You seem distracted."

"I'm fine," she attempted to say, the fine high and warbled. Then, a second time, "I'm fi – _ahh – fine_."

She shook her head, when her vocabulary refused to cooperate. Part of her almost wanted him to find out what she was doing under the desk, found the risk to be almost as much of a turn on as her Mistress' voice husking over the phone.

He seemed to accept the answer and she was rather surprised he wasn't more suspicious, knowing her face was flushed bright red and her breathing coming in harsh gulps.

She scissored her fingers inside herself and groaned low in her throat, the thought leaving her mind just as quickly as it had entered.

"You like that, slut? You want your pussy on display for the whole office to see?" her Mistress asked, her voice taking on a raspy quality that Emily knew accompanied her touching herself and she almost broke down in a sob at the idea, the thought alone almost enough to make her come.

She wanted to beg, wanted permission to touch her throbbing clit, to go harder, to do _something_ , but couldn't say the words without arousing Clyde's suspicion.

"What is it, Emily?" her Mistress asked with fake innocence, knowing she couldn't respond, "Do you need something? You can tell me..." The last word warbled a little and Emily knew she was on the brink of coming herself and she couldn't help but whimper at the unfairness of it.

Emily could barely stand it a second longer. She bit down hard on her thumb nail for something to mask the sounds bubbling up in spite of herself.

Her thighs were trembling and the heat was building in the pit of her stomach. These days it took almost no time for her to reach orgasm, as she was constantly horny and every little thing made her wet.

"Emily? Em?" Clyde was looking at her with a raised brow, clearly having asked her a question and she had absolutely no clue how to respond. He gave an exasperated little sigh when it became clear she wasn't paying attention and repeated himself. She nodded along as best she could while listening to the sounds of her Mistress' fingers slipping around in her juices.

She needed to come. Soon. But her Mistress had to give her permission first or she would be punished later and her pain signals were also on overdrive, so all punishments seemed particularly cruel these days.

"Now use three fingers," her Mistress demanded, "Really stretch yourself. And one on your clit."

Emily's sigh of relief was almost audible as she put the needed pressure on her clit. She rubbed it hard and fast, keeping herself on the edge, awaiting the command to let herself go, silently pleading.

"Are you ready, Emily? Do you need it?" Irene taunted.

"Yes, please," she said, her voice breaking, betraying her need.

"Too bad," she snarled. "You'll wait for me or you won't come at all."

"Yes, Ma'am," she nearly choked, torn between her own need and wanting to hear the sounds of her Mistress' pleasure.

She knew she was taking as long to come as possible, drawing out the torture, knowing how desperately Emily needed it. She listened for what seemed like hours as her Mistress moaned and panted and cried out, nearly in tears from how badly she needed release.

Finally, with a low throaty moan, Irene came, the sound alone nearly enough to bring Emily to orgasm. "Come for me, whore," she finally demanded, "Come now."

With a rattling breath, she plunged her fingers deep into herself, over and over, hips bucking up in time. She played with her clit faster and she reached her peak with a shudder, her whole body tensing. She bit down on a moan, stifling the sounds of pleasure she wanted so badly to let out.

She could hear Irene chuckle to herself. "That sounded absolutely beautiful," she cooed, "I wish I'd been there to see it."

"Agreed, Ma'am," she replied, hiding a smile behind her hand, Clyde still seemingly unaware of what had just gone on right under his nose.

She spent the rest of the meeting with stickiness drying on her fingers and between her thighs, unable to concentrate on a word Clyde said.


	3. Chapter 3

As Emily neared the final weeks of her pregnancy, her relationship with Irene had changed yet again. They spent less time in their dominant/submissive roles and more time simply as girlfriends. Emily still wasn't entirely sure how she'd gone from paying her Mistress to _dating_ her, but she certainly wasn't about to start pulling on tenuous threads.

While it was, perhaps, the oddest relationship she'd ever had, it was also the most deeply satisfying. Not just sexually, but emotionally as well – she didn't think she'd ever had someone understand every part of her the way Irene did. If that was strange, well, she decided she didn't care.

She was now Irene's only collared slave, as a sign of the exclusive relationship between them. Irene still took on clients, though, and Emily tried not to be jealous, but was finding it increasingly difficult, knowing she couldn't have what they had.

When she'd first gotten pregnant, she hadn't considered how obtrusive it would become as she neared her due date. The combination of her changing pain tolerance, her increased bruising, and her lax ligaments made almost every aspect of play near impossible and Emily's sexual frustration was through the roof.

She knew that Irene was well aware of her growing frustration – she didn't exactly make a secret of it. Irene was surprisingly patient and tolerant of Emily's behaviour which Emily found almost as frustrating as the lack of sexual release itself and she'd said as much.

When she'd confessed her growing frustration, they'd begun experimenting with different ways to play that still allowed her to act on her submissive fantasies without putting her or the baby's health and safety at risk.

Though she never would have thought it to be something she'd ordinarily enjoy and it wasn't something Irene typically trafficked in, they'd found kitten play to be the perfect outlet for Emily's submissive needs.

They'd developed a new set of rules for their changing relationship dynamic.

Every day, the first thing Emily did upon arriving home from work was strip down to nothing. It was the first rule of being a kitten. (And these days, she was all too glad to get out of the increasingly restrictive pant suits and skirts.)

The second rule was that she always be collared. During the day, she wore a subtle symbol of servitude – a velvet ribbon choker with a Victorian cameo pendant. As soon as she got home, she was to kneel on the doormat until her Mistress deigned to pay attention to her by exchanging it for the collar she wore at home – an expensive brown braided leather collar with a little bell attached. Most days, her Mistress was waiting to greet her when she arrived home; though on occasion, she was forced to kneel until her knees ached and her back was sore (which was all the time, lately).

That day, as she kneeled, waiting not-so-patiently for permission to leave her personal purgatory, she weighed the punishment of getting herself off without permission as she was going half out of her mind with need. She was so desperately on edge – she hadn't been allowed an orgasm all week and she was at the point where just clenching her thighs too tightly threatened to make her come.

"Hello, kitten," Irene greeted her from down the hall, heels clicking on the hardwood as she approached, making Emily instantly perk up. She emerged into the foyer wearing next to nothing – a sheer lace dress and panties – and Emily knew she was about to be rewarded for her patience. As she took in the sight of her Mistress, looking down at her kneeling form with that wicked smirk that always lead to mischief, she was nearly salivating already.

Her Mistress attached the collar around Emily's neck, pulling on it sharply to be sure it was fastened properly. The action alone was enough to get Emily wet (though, nearly everything accomplished that these days). She trembled a little from anticipation.

Irene stroked a hand through Emily's hair – it had gotten longer and developed soft curls since she'd gotten pregnant – and Emily lavished in the attention, closing her eyes and sighing softly at the tender touches.

She bent down so that she was at Emily's eye level and kissed her tenderly, sweetly even, in greeting. The pregnancy was bringing out a side of her she'd never seen before, a gentle, soft side, an almost timid side. The idea of having children had simply never occurred to her before Emily's blurted admission that she yearned for motherhood, but the closer her due date came, the more excited she found herself...though, admittedly, it was partly because it meant they'd be able to resume their pre-pregnancy sexual activities.

Emily's eyes fluttered open as Irene pulled away from the kiss and she whimpered a little at the loss of contact. Irene was smiling down at her, sweetly for a moment, then quickly becoming wicked again, making Emily shiver excitedly.

Irene produced Emily's kitten ears from behind her back and slid the headband into place, then held up her tail – dark chocolate fur, to match her hair – twiddling it between her thumb and forefinger, signalling to Emily to present herself. She obliged, turning around and leaning down on her elbows so her ass was properly displayed. Irene slicked up the plug with lube and inserted it, producing a low keening from deep in Emily's throat.

"Good kitten," Irene murmured, lightly slapping her ass.

Emily was forbidden to speak while in kitten form, so she meowed in response.

Irene snapped her fingers and turned on her heel, indicating Emily was to follow her. She obediently crawled after her on hands and knees, bell on her collar ringing with the movement, appreciating the view of her Mistress' ass.

"Sit, Kitty," she instructed, seating herself in the massive wing-backed chair that was her 'throne'. Irene ran her fingers through Emily's curls, petting her hair, making Emily purr with satisfaction.

Kitty was Emily's alter-ego in cat form – admittedly, not the most imaginatively named – and she found it surprisingly freeing, allowing herself, every last thought, every last need, to be controlled so completely.

Emily curled up at her Mistress' feet, nuzzling at her legs for attention. "If you want Mistress' attention, you've got to earn it, Kitty..." Irene informed her, hitching up her skirt as she spoke.

Emily nuzzled her Mistress' thighs apart eagerly, breathing in the heady scent of her arousal. She knew that her being pregnant and subservient turned her Mistress on and the knowledge pleased her, though she'd never say it aloud.

With delicate fingers, she shifted her Mistress' panties to one side, exposing her dripping pussy. A pleased little tremor ran down her spine.

"Ah ah," Irene scolded, slapping her hand away, "Kitten can't use her claws." She used two fingers to part the lips of her pussy, taunting her, knowing she wanted to be knuckle-deep inside her.

Retracting her hand, Emily looked away, properly chastised, but not for long. She licked her way up her Mistress' thigh to her waiting cunt, then pressed her lips to the waiting flesh in a reverent kiss.

Her Mistress let out a breathy moan at the contact. She fought the urge to shut her eyes, wanting to watch Emily licking eagerly at her like the slutty little kitten she was.

Emily pressed her tongue against her Mistress' slit, lapping at it the way she sometimes was made to lap at milk from a saucer.

Irene gripped a fistful of Emily's hair, pressing her deeper into her needy cunt, smearing her face with her juices.

Emily whimpered a little as she continued her ministrations. She flicked her tongue against her Mistress' clit, making the woman shudder. She couldn't help but smirk, making sure to repeat the action exactly until her Mistress was absolutely trembling. She loved serving her in every way, but she especially liked serving her in _this_ way.

Irene let her head fall back against the chair, her back arched elegantly, as Emily skillfully worked her cunt with lips and tongue and teeth. She made a mental note to quiz her about all the _women_ she'd slept with because there was no way she was that good at eating her out just by chance.

Just as quickly as the thought entered her mind, it was forced right back out by Emily plunging her tongue deep inside her, making her cry out.

"Make me come," she demanded with an attempt at imperiousness, but her warbling voice betrayed her desperate need.

Emily gave a little growl and nipped playfully at her Mistress' thigh. Before their relationship was exclusive in nature, she would have been harshly punished for marking her, but as it was, she greatly enjoyed the privilege.

She worked her tongue on her Mistress' clit over and over until her entire body tensed and then shuddered and she came with a throaty moan. She licked her lips, tasting her Mistress on them.

Once she'd recovered slightly, Irene smiled down at Emily and purred, "What a good kitten." She scratched behind Emily's ear, producing a contended little sigh from the woman.

Emily leaned into the touch, finding it strangely soothing. She mewled softly, happily.

"Come here, Kitty" Irene commanded, patting her thighs.

Mindful of the awkwardness of her belly, Emily climbed into her Mistress' lap, one leg straddling either side of her thighs.

Irene ran a hand over Emily's protruding belly with momentary tenderness. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "I might just keep you pregnant permanently, your belly swollen with child. And I'll know I did that to you – I decide when you're fucked, I decided who fucks you, and I decide whose seed you carry." She grinned wickedly and leaned in to bite harshly into the flesh of her tender breasts, making her cry out sharply. "You make such a good little bitch when you're pregnant."

Emily moaned. She wasn't sure, at her age, that that was an entirely possible fantasy, but hearing her say it made her pussy clench.

"You like that idea, don't you, Kitty?" her Mistress said with a knowing smirk.

Emily meowed in response.

Her Mistress patted her cheek. "You've been so well-behaved, I've got a little treat for you," she murmured, her other hand travelling up Emily's thigh, producing a surprised little yelp when her fingers reached her cunt.

Just as quickly, she withdrew the touch. She cocked her head to the side. "Do you not like it?" she taunted, knowing she did indeed _want_ her.

Emily meowed earnestly, praying she wasn't teasing her.

Irene laughed. "Relax, kitten..." she cooed as she entered her with two fingers.

Emily sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering shut as she proceeded to thrust her fingers in and out of her needy cunt.

"You've been such a good girl," Irene said conversationally as if she weren't finger fucking her. "I'm so proud of you."

Even if she'd been allowed to respond, she wouldn't have been able to; she was concentrating all her energy on not coming immediately at the slightest touch, given how desperate she was.

Irene inserted a third finger and pressed her thumb against Emily's clit, making her immediately lose all feline pretense. She cried out sharply, nearly sobbing with how badly she needed to come.

"Come for me, Kitty," she urged, marvelling at her beautiful face contorted in ecstasy.

Emily didn't need to be told twice – she rode her hand hard, knowing she was soaking her lap with her juices and entirely incapable of caring at the moment. She braced one hand against the chair back to support herself, moments before her climax hit, leaving her a panting, shaking mess.

With the hand not currently soaked in her juices, Irene tenderly stroked Emily's hair away from her face. She proceeded to suck the juices off her other hand, knowing how incredibly sexy Emily found it.

Emily was distracted, though, face screwed up in concentration, hand against her belly. "I need..." she started to say.

Irene cut her off, "I didn't say kitten could speak," she said threateningly. The last time she'd spoken out of turn, well, it had earned her the week without orgasm and she'd had to eat all her meals on the floor.

Emily shook her head urgently. "I think I'm having a contraction..."

Irene tried not to smile, but couldn't help the cocky grin. She'd known it was only a matter of time until she fucked her into labour.


End file.
